


Rest In Pieces

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair says good bye to Momati, his beloved Corvair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest In Pieces

y'all like me! y'all really like me! (sniff) enough of the psuedo-theatrics and down to business. as per request, here is a memorial scene for the beloved corvair. feel free to archive, disclaimer, etc attached, yada, yada.... 

disclaimer: just an empathy bit here. all known characters belong to PetFly, i'm just letting them have a little therapy. it's not wise to sue a postal worker. 

## Rest In Pieces

by AntyEnteT  


It was a chilling drizzle that fell on the small gathering. All were dressed in black: the women in somber dresses, the men in dress uniforms or suits. They huddled under their umbrellas and waited for the service to begin. 

"Dear friends, we are gathered today to mourn the loss of a much loved and valued friend." the priest couldn't believe he was doing this, "We have come to say goodbye to..." he looks down at the post-it note in his reader, "Momati, treasured corvair, taken from us forever in a tragic accident." 

Blair let his tears flow freely down his face. He didn't care what anyone thought. How could they possibly understand? Jim didn't, not really, even if he had arranged this. His thoughts wandered back to the first time he had seen the car.   
  


* * *

  


It was a beautiful day, a gentle breeze blowing, lifting his hair off his shoulders, the sun shining brightly as it hadn't in many months, the scent of spring flowers just beginning to irritate the allergy sufferers. He had been riding the bus for so long that today, being so nice, he'd decided to walk to campus. It was quite the distance but he didn't mind, he needed the exercise anyway. 

It was while taking an unintentional detour that he saw it. The corvair sat on the vacant lot, the "for sale" sign a little faded, grass grown up around it. He couldn't believe it. A 1962 corvair! Although it had obviously been there for a while, it still looked in pretty decent condition. Quickly, Blair jotted down the number on the sign and, having noticed the time, hurried on to campus.   
  


* * *

  


Jim, looking so handsome in his dress blues, nudged the wool-gathering Blair, "Chief? You have anything to say?" 

Blair nodded, accepting the crisp white handkerchief Simon passed to him. He wiped the saline from his cheeks and cleared his throat. He thought of all the merits of his beloved corvair, all of her charm and even her quirks. What could he really possibly say? 

"I don't quite know what to say," That was sure brilliant, Sandburg! he thought. "So, I guess I'll just tell you a little about Momati. She was everything I had ever wanted in a car. Sure, she had her faults, her moods, but she was still a beauty." His voice cracked on 'was', his emotions roiling, thoughts reeling back in time once more.   
  


* * *

  


The man handed Blair the keys, "She may not start right off, been sitting here for months. I've tried to come out and start 'er up now and then, but, well, you know how it is." 

Blair opened the door, smiling a lopsided grin at the groaning hinges. There were shoots of grass sprouting just under the brake pedal and a tiny dandelion bloom under the gas pedal. Carefully, he eased into the driver's seat, cautious as he adjusted it to reach the pedals. Ah, the way the vinyl creaked as it adjusted to his backside. His eyes closed for a moment, picturing all the chicks he could pick up in this antique. It wasn't much later that he was handing the owner---PREVIOUS owner--a check and making arrangements to have the car hauled to a garage for it's--no, HER'S! Momati's!--first rejuvenation treatment.   
  


* * *

  


His monologue continued, his voice quieting to a whisper as he pointed out and described each old dent, ding and scratch on the body of his precious transport. He spoke of the many times he had to push her to a gas station in the middle of the night, through snow drifts and up hills. He told them of the good times when she ran smoother than a drop of water down an open umbrella, of when she stalled out at the most inopportune times.... 

The priest said, "Amen," seeing it as the only way to finish the ceremony and get out of the freezing rain which had begun to threaten snow. "Are there any others who wish to speak...?" 

Everyone one was surprised when Alec stepped away from the crowd and moved to stand at the front of the automobile. "I want to start by saying this is all my fault. I'm deeply sorry. I never knew how much a car could mean to someone, but I now feel as if I, too, had a lost a good friend. This vehicle, Momati, saved my life. She was the best car I'd ever driven and I wish I could have known her better." 

Jim was next. "Though her owner lives in my loft, I didn't know Momati very well. She was rarely in condition for more than visiting. She should have had many more years left to her." 

One by one, Blair's friends stepped up to say something nice about what was left of his car, to hug Blair and offer their deepest sympathies. As they passed, each left a rose on the primer grey hood. 

Blair watched them, placing their hands and flowers on the corpse where it lay in the bed of the compactor. When the last one had passed, he took the screwdriver Jim held out to him and removed the license plate. He checked the glove compartment one last time, closed the ashtray he had used only for spare change, and tooted the horn fondly. 

Everyone retreated back a few steps, until only Blair stood next to the crusher. He reached for the button to start the big machine that would turn his sweet chariot into a cube of unidentifiable metal. Hand shaking, "Jim. I can't do it. I just can't...." 

Jim walked forward and put his hand over his mourning Guide's, applying just enough pressure to get the process underway. He held Blair close and allowed the younger man to vent his misery against his massive chest. 

Slowly, the funeral party disbanded, trickling back to their own vehicles, still not quite understanding. Blair allowed himself to be led back to Jim's truck, not looking back until the door had closed him in. He clutched the license plate to his chest, leant his head against Jim's shoulder and cried silently all the way home.   
  


* * *

  


The next day, Blair awoke to the sounds of Jim cooking breakfast. He could smell the bacon and eggs, but he let his memories sweep him into another place: the driver's seat once more.   
  


* * *

  


The smells of the old ride...separating them, he recalled each event attached to that particular scent. .He knew that car, it knew him--thoroughly, completely, inexorably. every quirk, every sound, every variation from manufactory original, every part number, every little detail was etched into his mind.   
  


* * *

  


Losing it was like losing a limb, an extension of his very being. There would always be a hollow place in his heart where the car belonged, a spot in his mind bricked off in an effort to stave off the pain of separation and loss. 

Man, he missed that car. More than any lover, more than any friend, more than his wild journeys did he mourn the absence of that broken down, bailing wire and bubblegum rigged, definitely not perfect car. His wondrous corvair, gone forever. 

"Blair? Are you up? Breakfast is ready!" 

He went into the kitchen, not really paying attention. When he finally noticed the brochures by his plate, he felt somewhat offended. How could he!? Hadn't he been listening? "What are those for?" 

"Chief, you're going to have to get another car. I can't chauffeur you around all the time, any more than you'd want me to. I've got the classifieds from the paper here, too. Maybe you can find another corvair." 

Blair looked at Jim forlornly. Sure, he could by another one. Very likely one that even looked the same (but it wouldn't), in the same condition (it'd be worse), but it wouldn't be the same. There'd be a different personality, different quirks, different smells...too many differences. He shuffled through the bright colored pamphlets apathetically. 

"I really think you should get something a little newer, though. There are much better safety features now and...." Jim let his sentence trail off. 

Maybe Jim was right, thought Blair, better to just get something else entirely, something new. 

Nah! He'd rather walk. 

"Walking might be healthy, but it's not going to get you anywhere very fast, Chief." 

Blair hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. "It's just too soon, Jim. Maybe in a few days or next week...." 

Jim let him amble back to his room, shut the door. "I hope so, Blair. I hope so."   
  


* * *

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